


Aftermath

by TheWolves24



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9978887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolves24/pseuds/TheWolves24
Summary: Jon rescues Sansa from Littlefinger in the Vale, they have a conversation in the woods afterwards...





	

For those who have seen Outlander, you know where I have pulled this story from.

Outlander is a wonderful series, if you have yet to see it, check it out! And the books are wonderful as well! Even more so.

Disclaimer: None of this is mine.

 

Davos was staring at Jon as he pulled Lady Sansa from the horse she rode. His dark features were hardening, trying to steer his wife to a small clearing.

Jon pulled her forward, saying something low under his breath to her. She walked ahead, her skirts brushing the leaves on the ground.

Jon turned and looked at Davos, the older man looking at the woman walking towards the trees.

“Your Grace, the Queen needs to know what she did, and what the outcome would have been if we wouldn’t have gotten to her. She put men in danger, she needs to be reproached.”

Jon looked around, watching the men glare in the Queen’s direction.

“I can’t reprimand her Ser Davos, after her history with Ramsay Bolton, with men in general. It would be wrong…”

“Aye.” Davos said, “And if she runs off again because of that bastard Littlefinger, she’ll find herself in a similar situation once more.”

The King listened, closing his eyes, knowing that he did need to at least _speak_ to her about what she had done.

Looking at the men once more, he directed his horse over to them, “Water the horse’s lads.”

Davos bobbed his head, looking at the soldiers, “You heard your King.”

 

Sansa sat on a log, embarrassment and distress running through her. She had run off to the Vale due to the words of Littlefinger, he had written her and told her Arya was in the area, but he had lied, and had tried to keep her hostage in the Eryie.

She was naïve and stupid, something she thought had been beaten out of her over the last couple of years.

But, she was wrong.

Not only that, but she had put Jon and his soldiers in great danger.

The bloody gate was a gory battle, Jon lost two men in the process of rescuing her.

Sighing soundly, she heard footsteps and looked up to see Jon coming her way, his head looking down at the small path.

Standing up promptly, she brushed off her skirts, folding her hands in front of her.

Jon finally looked up, stopping in front of her, his eyes like steel, observing her obvious anxiety.

“Sansa.” He started, sighing heavily.

Silence.

“Are you hurt?” He asked her, his eyes looking over her body.

“N-No. Littlefinger didn’t have time to do anything. Thanks to you.” She told him, smiling at him innocently.

Jon shut his eyes, feeling the dread crawl up his spine. He did not want to chastise her, but he needed to, he needed to appease his men, the people who _fought_ for him.

The men who died to rescue her.

Silence.

“I’m waiting.” He started, clearing his throat due to its dryness. “Waiting on anything that approaches an apology.”

Sansa took a step back from him, wringing her hands together, “A-Apology?”

She just stared at him, shock evident in her blue irises.

“I-I was taken hostage by Petyr Baelish. Are you saying that’s somehow _my_ fault?”

“Aye. It is your fault. If you would have stayed put in Winterfell like I _instructed_ you, none of this would have happened.”

She was still looking at him, her eyes wide.

“But why would you listen to me, I’m only your husband. You just do whatever you want to Sansa, ride wherever you want, leave whenever you want. And the next thing I find you being held hostage in the Vale with a man that wants to _fuck_ you into next winter.”

Sansa retained her speech, gritting her teeth together.

“I _begged_ you to take me with you. I _told_ you there was no danger in me going along. But, did you listen to me? _No_. No. I’m only a woman, why should you listen to _anything_ I have to say? Women are only fit to do what they’re told and obey _orders._ ”

Sansa was seething now, her hands trembling before her.

Jon glared at her, his own hands quivering by his sides.

“Aye and if you _would_ have listened, we wouldn’t have most of the Vale’s army on our asses now.” He said, leaning his face towards hers.

Out of pure fury, she reached out and gave him a vicious slap.

Jon’s face whipped to the side, but he recovered quickly, his grey eyes bright with anger now, his calm exterior falling away completely.

Reaching his hands out, he gripped her shoulders, shoving her face into his, “Do it again Sansa, and I’ll tan your hide right here!” He seethed down into her face.

Sansa shoved against him, gaining a little bit of distance. “You’re a brutish fool! You think I went and got captured by Littlefinger on _purpose?_ ”

Jon felt his jaw trembling, but he nodded his head furiously, “Aye! I do think you did it on purpose, to get back at _me_ for having to marry you!”

Sansa’s jaw dropped open, the anger she felt doubling now.

“ _Marrying you?_ Y-You think to _punish_ you, I went to Littlefinger on just a _chance_ that he would keep me in the Erye?! For God’s sake, I wanted to see if Arya was in the Vale!”

Jon looked up from the rock he was deftly clinging to, trying his hardest not to lash out at her.

“I _told_ you to stay in Winterfell!” He thundered, grey eyes stormy and full of unbridled anger.

Sansa grit her teeth together again, cheeks red with her own anger, “I _don’t_ have to do what you tell me to!”

Jon’s eyes grew wider, advancing on her, grabbing her shoulders roughly again, “Aye. You do, _you_ are my _wife!”_ He growled in her face, their noses almost touching.

Sansa grew bolder, not backing down from him.

“Oh, your wife, _your wife?”_ She asked, sarcastically, the question laced with malice.

“You think I’m your property, don’t you? You think I _belong_ to you, and you _can’t stand_ for someone to have something that _belongs_ to you?” Sansa asked him, her blue eyes flashing angrily, her chest rising and falling with anger she had never felt before.

Jon sneered at her, “You _are_ my wife, and you do belong to me whether you like it or not!”

Sansa started to pant with anger and her hands reached out to shove him out of her face, “Well, I _don’t_ like it! I don’t like it at all!”

Jon clenched his fists, but turned away from her, wiping his lips angrily, trying to regain control of his emotions.

Sansa however, was far from done.

“But that doesn’t matter to you either, does it?!” She was behind him now, shoving her face near his neck, her words echoing through the air.

“Cause as long as I’m there to _warm_ your bed, you don’t care about _what_ I think, or _how_ I feel!” Sansa was now chasing his face with hers, but Jon was trying to back away from her, knowing he was near injuring her with his rage.

Sansa chased his form, finally planting herself back in his face, her hot breath hitting his nose due to her closeness.

“Is that what a _wife_ is to you? Something to stick your cock into, _whenever_ you feel the urge?!”

Jon finally snapped, his hands finding her shoulders, shaking her roughly.

Sansa struggled with his iron grip, “Let go of me-you-you _FUCKING_ bastard!” She screamed into his face, her spittle flying everywhere.

Jon shook her crudely, thrusting her face closer to his, “You foul mouthed _bitch_ , you won’t _speak_ to me that way!!”

When the words left his mouth, he instantly regretted them, backing away, his back hit the rock he was previously clinging to. He had never in his life spoken to anyone that way. Especially not a woman. Especially not his beautiful wife.

Sansa watched Jon slide down the shrubbery, her anger dissipating, the hurt from their angry words sinking into her skin.

Jon had never been rough with her, he had always treated her with respect, but she…she always took advantage of it, she knew that. In some way, she deserved this thrashing he had given her, she had gone too far when she had left for the Vale, knowing full well what _might_ happen if she left by herself.

Sighing sadly, she watched as his face crumbled.

“I-I went through that bloody gate, knowing I’d take every arrow for you. I didn’t care how many men I lost.” Jon said to her, lowering his head, not wanting to cry in front of her.

Sansa felt the shame wash over her, stronger than ever now.

“Oh Jon.” She said, gliding over to him, sitting beside him on the ground. Taking his hand gently, she squeezed it.

“I’m sorry.” She said, closing her eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

He looked down at her, his grey eyes sad, shame coursing through him.

“No. I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean what I said. It’s just built up tension.” He said to her, squeezing her offered hand with his own.

Sansa knew he didn’t mean to hurt her. Jon would hurt nobody, especially not her.

But, she finally knew what shame he carried.

“Jon.” She said, grabbing his attention once more.

He looked at her.

“Do not feel guilty over our marriage. I-I, I _like_ our marriage. I like being with you…” She finished, rather embarrassed.

“You do?” He asked her, shocked at this revelation.

Sansa nodded.

“You have a strange way of showing it.” He mumbled, pulling his hand away from her.

“Well Jon, you know what my history is. I never expected to marry ever again.”

He looked her over, and nodded, ashamed he had said anything at all. He knew her history, knew what had happened with her and Joffrey, and Ramsay.

Clearing his throat, he rubbed his face, “Did I hurt you? When I grabbed your shoulders?” He asked her, dread sitting in his stomach, what if he had? Would she lump him in with all the other terrible men?

Sansa shook her head though and Jon felt happiness wash over him a little bit.

Putting a finger under her chin, he raised her eyes to his own, the wind ruffling her red tresses to blow about her shoulders.

“Sansa. I care about our marriage, I care about you. I-I love you, sweet girl. And when you were taken, the fear I felt, it was…consuming. I cannot lose you. I’ve lost so much, _we’ve_ lost so much, I will not add you to that list.” He finished, feeling like a green boy confessing his feelings to his very first crush.

The red-haired woman before him dropped her eyes to the ground, but her hand stayed upon his.

“J-Jon. I feel the same way. When I was captured at the Vale, I begged Littlefinger to spare you when you got to the bloody gate. I was foolish, and I’m so sorry.” Raising her eyes, Jon saw tears overflow and spill down her fare cheeks. Hurt tugged at his heart and he leaned down swiftly and captured her lips with his own.

Her lips were feather soft, her little whimper reaching his ears as he touched her softly.

Pulling away after a bit, Sansa sniffled, rubbing her nose.

“I forgive you.” He told her, “I’ll always forgive you.”

Sansa smiled, rising to her feet, reaching down to extend her hand, beckoning him up.

“I promise to never do anything like that again.” She told him, considering his face as he stood beside her.

Jon smiled, raising an eyebrow, “I hope not, Sansa.”

 

 

It’s only a one-shot, but I hope ya’ll enjoyed it. If you want me to continue, just drop a comment.

Love,

Heather.


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